


Checkmate

by coffeethyme4me



Category: White Collar
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-09
Updated: 2010-05-09
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:45:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffeethyme4me/pseuds/coffeethyme4me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prison vignette.  Happy, h/c ending, though.  (MMoM Day Nine)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Checkmate

**Author's Note:**

> Don't own anything.

Solitary again. Solitary for the night. The silence fills the parts of me emptied by their noise. They put their noise inside me.

…

It was worse before I got a Bone. Before Guard and Bone took me in and kept all the others off. Before that, I didn't get solitary. I got the infirmary. And the noise was right outside. Their noise bled out of me. They'd left me too empty for crying.

…

Guard and Bone had a good deal going. They saw me that first day and it was love. But they waited for me to get broken in. Broken period. They waited for the scar tissue and the nightmares and the choking on piss to drive me into their sweet arms. To sweeten their deal. And when I fell into them and only had two cocks in me at once, one behind and one in front, it was such a relief.

…

They kept me out of the infirmary. They would only ever make me bleed a little. Enough to satisfy. And they would take turns in my orifices, but neither one could come more than twice in a session. So, I would count off the loads of cum: two in the ass, two down my throat, a little pain, a little humiliation, and I'd be done.

…

Guard and Bone have gotten better at making me come. They've found the prostate and think this means they are gods or I'm a dog or something. Not that I can't help it. Not that I'm not even in my body anymore. Until the climax when I'm slammed back in, groaning and shooting semen all over the floor and wanting to curl up and die. They laugh and spank my ass fondly. Sometimes they make me lick it up. Sometimes they make me lie in it while they go again.

…

I started the fights so that I could get into solitary. I can rest here. I can go farther away. Outside these grey walls. I can play chess in my head. I don't think of Moz; I know if I do, I'll lose my mind. I keep him far, far away. I just stay with rook, pawn, king, knight. I play in my head until I lose track of my plays. I get better each day I spend here. And when they pull me out, and Guard and Bone get to fuck me again, I keep playing while they do it to me. Once, when Guard was screaming that he was gonna come inside my tight ass, sweating against me, huffing and puffing, I checkmated myself and almost smiled.

…

I try to think of Kate while I'm in the silent, cold room. I think I've forgotten the shape of her face, the draw of her arms. I don't know if I no longer love her or if I just can't excavate that love from wherever I've buried it. I've tried to get everything that means anything to me so far down that they can't touch or see, can't ignite it and burn it away for their amusement.

Which is why vivid thoughts of Peter terrify me at first, and I try like hell to push him away, to send him wherever I've sent Moz and Kate, so that they, so that I, can't ruin him.

…

But he comes back. He shows up in solitary and wants to play chess with me. He smiles, and I find myself smiling back at him, sure it's Peter and not simply a dank wall. We play for hours, sometimes silent and sometimes we talk. He tells me about work, heists he's taken down, about basketball games and the dinner El made last night and about the new agent in the office.

He talks me into the night. I fall asleep to the sound of his calm, reassuring voice.

…

I know I'm losing it when Peter starts telling me that he loves me, that he'll take care of me, that I'm beautiful and that he wants me. But I close my eyes and feel his breath on my face anyway. I lay my hand on my thigh and he tells me it's going to be okay. I'm so beautiful and he wants to touch me. He wants me to try.

I touch myself through the orange suit, and even though it doesn't get hard, I breathe out a sigh of massive relief, because it doesn't hurt. It doesn't feel bad. It feels so good. Peter's strong, sweet hand comforts me. He holds me there between my legs, he rubs my shoulders and my neck. He touches me like I'm a person. He tells me over and over again:

I love you, Neal.

I'm coming for you, Neal.

You're mine, Neal.

Wait for me.

…

I've been out for six months. I've been helping the FBI with their cases. Helping Peter. He didn't exactly come for me. Not in prison. But I got out anyway. And he came for me then. And he takes care of me.

He lets me come over to his house for dinner. He comes over to my place at June's for breakfast. He lets me walk his dog with him. He bought me a bottle of wine once. He makes me laugh. He smiles at me a lot. Like he likes me more than he should.

…

I've been out almost a year and he's started touching me. Holding my hand. Stroking the back of my neck. Pressing his hand to my lower back. Too low. For the first time since prison, I've started to respond. He's making me hard.

It's Peter's smile and his hand on me too much of the time, lingering, touching places he shouldn't, the desire that's growing in his eyes… He doesn't know what he's doing to me. He doesn't know how badly I need it. He doesn't know that every time he hugs me good night, and I can feel his erection patient against my leg before he pulls reluctantly away, that every time he whispers in my ear and then laughs, making me shiver, and every time he rubs my back like two guys just do this all the time…

He's saving me.

Instead of breaking me, he's breaking me open.

I try to tell him with my eyes. I try to thank him. But I don't think he knows yet. He won't know until I reach up, wrap my hand around the back of his head, curling my fingers into his hair, and I kiss him, that because of him, I've come back to life.

Because of him.

And when I do. When I lean in and press my mouth to his, open his mouth with my tongue, and I feel him gasp into it, I whisper against him, "Checkmate," smiling.

And then he kisses me back in the silence.

 

END


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